


I Put a Shine in Your Eye, It Don't Matter To Me

by oppressa



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Competence Kink, Flirting sort of, M/M, Male Friendship, Power Dynamics, Rough Body Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles takes advantage of the times when Jack makes himself available.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Put a Shine in Your Eye, It Don't Matter To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Errr. So unsure whether to post this but I passed it by my beta reader and good friend who said it was okay, so here goes.
> 
> Set back at the end of episode one, AU that just assumes Anne changed her mind about “I wanna fuck” or that Jack was subsequently too intrigued by the Eleanor/Vane confrontation to go with her.

He should be satisfied by how it went with Eleanor, that he won against her contempt, only nothing had actually gone as he'd hoped, she doesn't see things his way. He's feeling frustrated, and while he could easily find the whore who was hanging off him earlier on, he doesn't want that, after what happened. He wants someone he knows.

Jack is leaning back on the bar, looking at him with his _was that really necessary_ expression, but as luck would have it, without Anne standing next to him. Charles is really fucking glad of that, even aside from his ultimate goal. It gives him the opportunity to see to Jack's wounded look without her bristling in defence of him, she thinks Charles doesn't appreciate that he's been working hard recently, and then goes and does something to counteract it like that...

“Oh no, she enjoyed it.” Jack tells him, when he joins him and suggests Anne's absence is because he hit Eleanor back. “No solidarity there, I can assure you.”

Jack's older and more patient than him, and Anne younger, with less desire to confront him openly, yet Anne's the one he has to watch out for, she's got no love for him. Still, he doesn't have to worry about it as long as Jack can interpret her moods. Charles would ask himself how he did it, if he didn't know what inspired that kind of connection, the only selfless thing he's ever seen Jack do, and maybe it's been loyally rewarded although he wouldn't call having Anne dog his every move a _reward_.

“So she's just up and left you, has she?”

Jack glances quickly at him, smiling nervously, evasively, and fondly all at the same time. “Yes.”

“Gettin' too big for herself, that one. You mean to tell me there's nothing you can do about it?” He wonders sometimes, if it'd be any easier with Eleanor if he possessed Jack's smooth tongue.

His Quartermaster snorts and takes a drink, then replies, “It's unlikely, Charles, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, I ain't complaining. Been a while since I had you all to myself.”

There's no way to mistake the flush creeping up Jack's neck as Charles is leaning closer to him, for something brought on by the wine. But he's looking to make the blood rush somewhere else. It's fun, taking advantage like this, though it isn't that, really, with Jack, he knows what's going on. Charles can tell by the slight smirk on his thin face that he's going to fucking play.

“Of course, Captain, I'm all yours. What did you want to talk about?”

Huh, _talking_ , that's always been Jack's strong suit. The little bastard _knows_ that he's got more than talking in mind, but Eleanor has her way of throwing up obstructions, and Jack has his, though it might be less outright. He's just all falsely accommodating while not committing to anything, fidgeting with a button on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I've been trying to get through to Eleanor. She's fucking entirely taken in by Flint, an action against him is an action against her.”

Jack licks his upper lip, eyeing his clenched fists. “I think she rather likes that you're around again.”

“She coulda fooled me.” _You aren't_ , he wants to add, still it isn't right to say that, yet. Jack wants this to take its time, to be swayed like he isn't just a distraction.

They speak in more lowered voices about how supporting Flint won't remain an option for anybody before too long. Jack is so certain about it, so undoubtedly with him, that Charles claps him on the back, and his hand rests there, a little further down than it normally would, where Anne touches him when she's being subtle.

“You've done well with arranging all this. As long as we don't have to kill anyone else standing in the way, which I don't anticipate to be a problem any more.”

His eyes narrow, staring straight ahead. “Is that your best and most sincere attempt at flattery?”

“You know I don't do that.” He does pitch his voice deeper still, though, and notices Jack's hip cocks girlishly toward him, even if he doesn't betray himself in any other way. “I'm just statin' a fact. It generally seems to fall in our favour, when I leave it up to you.”

Jack shrugs as if to say he doesn't know what else Charles expects, and downs another glass. He continues to run his mouth, but his points are losing focus, while Charles only observes his throat swallowing and his eyelashes fluttering up and down. In a few more minutes he'll be ramming Jack onto the bar and fucking him right there. He reaches out to stop his arm in the middle of a circular gesture, and pulls him in. Maybe it ain't really fair to treat him like a ragdoll in front of everyone, although Jack hasn't exactly helped his balance by knocking back that much.

“I'd say you're about ready to take this conversation to my tent.”

Jack frowns, because ordinarily, he speaks for himself, or for the crew, but there's no argument from him now. Charles even thinks he hears him laugh after realising that he's so easily persuaded, as he's following him out.

 

He's aware that Jack has his little games with Anne, but this is a different thing altogether, and Jack obviously understands that from how he's sitting biting his thumbnail, with Charles standing above him.

“You aren't talkin' your way out of this one, you know.” 

He sighs, looking up at him long-sufferingly, with eyes that are possibly even darker than usual.

“I know.” The way he says it so defiantly implies that's why he's here. “Don't patronise me.”

Charles laughs and shakes his head, although he guesses he shouldn't be surprised any more. That bafflingly crazy confidence was what drew him to reconsider such a slight person as Jack in the first place, that and his ability to think the same way a snake moves, fast and zigzagging from one thing to the next, and once he's got hold of an idea, he doesn't let it go.

But Charles, for his part, can suddenly spring at him and grab his wrists and twist him over before he can blink, so he's pinned bodily with a hard knee lodging itself between his thighs. 

“No.” He murmurs, lying into Jack's instinctively-tightened spine, feeling the increased tension in the dainty wrists he's holding. “I wouldn't fuckin' dream of it.”

He releases him apathetically before the urge to hurt becomes too much, and Jack cautiously breathes out, beneath him. He trusts that Charles knows it wouldn't do well to break anything. Anne wouldn't thank him for it, that's for sure. Still, he isn't especially careful to spare Jack's sensibilities, in making him take his clothes off while still trapped underneath, then steps away from him and tosses him what he needs to get himself ready, watches his face long after its crumpled with the indignity and gone beautifully red. Having Jack fuck himself on his own fingers in front of him with the sort of fervour that suggests practice is enough to fully harden Charles's cock, along with imagining how much he could actually take, how much he has done, at Anne's insistence.

He makes sure Jack gets less enjoyment out of his own roughness, though. He puts marks on him, bites and scratches that Anne's gonna see and know where they came from. He still thinks Jack is more worried about her reaction than about what's happening to him, being dragged back into Charles's hips and shunted forward with each thrust, so he's harsh with his words, as well.

“I lied, earlier, to get you into bed. You watch what you say to my face, but I've had a few too many surprises where you're concerned. I don't see why it is you seem to feel some kind of thrill from not consulting me.” 

He knows Jack better than to expect stunned silence for longer than a few seconds, and as it turns out, the man with an answer for everything has one for that, too.

“It's because you're strong, you're the strongest Captain out of all of them, all right, I recognise that, it's a fucking privilege to stand by you and I can make you even stronger if you'll just _trust_ me with these things – ”

He's gushing now, doesn't seem to realise he's doing it again, the exact same thing, promising what there's no guarantee he can deliver. Charles belatedly remembers he shouldn't let him talk. He claps his hand over Jack's unfinished piece, then bends down, so he can't escape hearing how it really is instead.

“I believe it, Jack, still don't think for one second I don't have you serving me since you'd be more trouble working for someone else. You and your little fuckin' follower. But I need you, and you need her, is that what you'd tell me, if you could?”

Only Jack's body responds, with a taut, definite shudder, which is enough to confirm it, anyway. He seems to have nothing left to say for himself, other than the noises forced out of him, and after a while something sounding like “Charles I fucking can't -”

He deprives him of taking a proper breath a moment longer, then releases his grip, so he can feel him panting in and out, against his hand. His other snakes down to stroke between Jack's legs and slowly upward, finding he doesn't even need that much encouragement.

“Yeah, you can. I'm letting you. Just remember, you're still running around because I like you, not because I need you for whatever reason.”

Jack nods and gasps and seizes up, coming into his hand, at being _told_ not to overstep, informed inarguably of what he is to Charles. But he will keep on crossing the line, so Charles keeps fucking him, until Jack is groaning again and pushing back, and telling him he can go to hell even as he should finally be accepting the vulnerability of his position.

 

When Charles is finished with him Jack is in more of a mess than he's ever seen him, possibly than anyone has apart from Anne, as it's a state he doesn't like people to see. Yet he's already making slow, tentative movements to leave, reaching for his shirt. Charles wraps his arm nearly all the way around his waist, caging him, preventing him from getting any further upright.

“What's your fuckin' hurry?”

He knows the answer, to why Jack's so anxious to kick himself out, even all rumpled like he is, still, he's reluctant to get rid of him straight away. In fact, he wants to delay sending him back to Anne for as long as possible.

“Let her wonder where you are for once.”

Jack grimaces at the thought of what might result from that, but then the wolfishly sharp grin shows itself, at Charles asking him to stay.

“If you insist.” He checks, looking over his shoulder.

“I am insisting, Jack.”

He quits thinking, or pretending to think about it, and lies back down beside him. “Well, all right then, for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Kings of Leon, I'm so sorry I can never think up original titles.


End file.
